


A Winter's Masquerade

by pagerunner



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, e094-e095 Timeskip (Critical Role)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 04:32:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11547549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pagerunner/pseuds/pagerunner
Summary: It's Winter's Crest in Whitestone, a new Grand Mistress of the Grey Hunt must be honored, and a promise must be spoken. A seasonal take on the secret that broke fandom (not to mention the cast), set during the Critical Role timeskip. Spoilers through episode 105.





	A Winter's Masquerade

The masquerade was a game as much as a dance, and it had always been so. Tonight, however, on this Winter’s Crest, it felt especially momentous. Percy knew he was on the cusp of discovering just how significant the night might become.

In the halls of Castle Whitestone were dozens of masked figures, some of them more anonymous than others. All of them, of course, had been carefully vetted at the gates, so if Percy wanted he could identify everyone with ease. A few observant glances here, a whispered question to the guards there, and he could unravel every disguise in an instant. But this masquerade ball—the first proper one Whitestone had held in years—had its charms tied up in pretense, and in the occasional true flash of art. So Percy avoided picking at the threads. He observed the costumes with only detached interest, caring to find one thing and one thing alone.

He was searching for one singular dancer, not yet obvious in the crowd.

“Spotted her yet?” Tary said, nudging up close to Percy’s side. He sounded suspiciously amused. He’d helped with Vex’s costume, after all, as had others of their friends, and between the lot of them they’d kept Percy well away from any clues. Still, instinct kept pricking at him, suggesting ideas, whispering of potential.

Something flickered in Percy’s peripheral vision, but it was gone by the time he turned his head.

Tary came clear in the motion, at least. He stood tall and gleaming as ever, bedecked as the masked hero of an adventure story Percy remembered from childhood. He didn’t remember quite so many frills and furbelows on his outfit, to be fair, but it seemed churlish to critique. Tary was in his element. Percy felt somewhat less so, but he held his head high as he addressed his friend.

“You know I haven’t seen her yet. If I had, I’d be in her company, not studying everyone from the balcony.” Percy shrugged lightly and leaned on the railing. “Still, it is quite the spectacle.”

“I’m impressed. Everyone’s been so resourceful and creative. Did you see Emmeline Alden’s fascinator? The birdcage? It’s charming.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“No, I mean, it’s _literally_ charmed. The paper bird inside it sings on command. And there’s a young man down there in an incredibly fetching owlbear mask. I didn’t think owlbears _could_ look that fetching.”

“I suspect what you’re finding attractive isn’t the mask, so much.”

“Well.” Taryon chuckled. “Maybe not.”

Percy cracked a smile, then surveyed the crowd again. The smile became something more pensive. He’d invited everyone from Vox Machina to the festivities, of course, and even in this swirl they were difficult to miss. Pike was especially unmistakable, standing as she was on a riser behind the refreshment table. She was cheerfully passing out drinks and imbibing enough of her own that her glittery unicorn horn was tilting askew, unnoticed. Grog, too, was impossible to disguise, especially in his favorite helmet. “It’s Vex’s big night,” he’d solemnly told Percy upon arrival. “We all ought to look our best.”

Percy glanced down, tugging absently at his jacket, and hoping he could say the same of himself. Choosing an outfit had been a complicated process. He’d resisted the suggestion of a known character; wearing any guise but his own seemed somehow wrong. Instead, it became a process of assembly. In a nod to the ways he’d begun remaking Whitestone, Percy had augmented his clothing with custom clasps and metal settings, the accents gleaming at the edges of otherwise simple gunmetal gray. And while he’d made a point of patronizing the town’s craftspeople and tailors who were outfitting so many of the guests, he’d felt compelled to make the mask himself. He still hoped he’d done the idea justice. The shape was simple, but the construction complex: a fine silvery filigree whose shapes suggested elements of his family crest.

He was holding it in both hands now, thinking of other masks he’d worn, and was still tracing one thumb over the edge of a star when another voice burst to life behind him. “ _Percy!”_

He turned, surprised, only to end up with an armful of enthusiastic half-elf. It was Keyleth, having materialized from her dressing room upstairs for a hug that was at least three-quarters tackle. Behind her, more restrained but still looking amused, was Vax, clad in borrowed formal wear but wearing a mask that suggested the spread of raven’s wings. _How literal of you_ , Percy thought but didn’t say, in part because he was still muffled by Keyleth’s hair.

At last she drew back, though, and he blinked in surprise. “Keyleth, you’re…”

“A dryad!” she said cheerfully, pointing at her magically altered skin. “A druid dryad. It’s barkskin. Remember?”

He did, suddenly, although the effect on Keyleth was striking. She’d modeled the look on birch, pale and delicately mottled, and her new tattoos were subtly visible as part of the pattern across the bark. Birch leaves twined through her antlers as if they were branches, and her dress, simple and sheer, was silvery-green to match. The gown would have been almost immodest—and certainly cold for the weather—if not for the fact that she was every bit as much a walking tree as a woman, and it made any of the details beneath the fabric somewhat abstract. Still, she looked lovely, and entirely like Keyleth.

Percy smiled as he told her, “I _do_ remember, although you’ll have to forgive me for forgetting the details. I was blind last time, after all.”

“You were blind?” Tary asked. “When was this? And hello again, milady.”

Keyleth bore his hand-kiss with grace, even though Vax good-naturedly scoffed. “It was the first time we were in the Feywild,” he explained. “Long story. Like I said when we visited: don’t pick the flowers.”

“Well, I’m especially grateful for the warning now,” Tary said. “It would be a shame to miss such beauty as what’s before me.”

This time it was Keyleth’s turn for an unladylike snort. “You know, Tary,” she said, “it’s a good thing I know you’re not actually interested in women, or I might have to smack you.”

Tary grinned back at her. Vax stepped in, however, before the banter could continue. “So, Freddie,” he said with a crooked smile. “I’m surprised not to see the lady of the hour on your arm already. She still leading you on a merry chase?”

“A bit,” Percy admitted. “Although the way the rest of you keep leering at me about it, I suspect I might be the only one to have missed her.”

“I saw her earlier!” Keyleth piped up, rather proving his point. “I helped with her mask.”

“As did I,” Tary put in.

“And Pike advised on the dress,” Vax said. “She wouldn’t listen to me about it. I mean, not that I know her at all or know what might suit her.”

“Oh, don’t take it personally, Vax,” Keyleth said. “Some things you just want to entrust to other girls.”

“And to…” Tary hesitated. “Well. I’m just going to let that part go.”

“Anyway, Percy,” Keyleth said, “I think you should make your way to the dance floor. I mean, you keep telling me you know how to dance—“

“Because I do.”

“Then you should prove it. You and I can dance first, and then I’ll go dance with Vax, and…well, I have the feeling that given the chance, Vex might just find _you._ ”

That made another half-formed thought cross Percy’s mind, the idea that something important was _just_ nearby but eluding his grasp. He didn’t have the time to puzzle it out before Keyleth plucked his glasses off, tucked them neatly into a pocket, and settled his mask over his face instead. He felt the odd roughness of her barkskin for a moment, but before he could react, she’d fastened it in place and tugged him toward the stairs.

“Be back before midnight, darling,” Vax called, singsong, after them.

“Don’t be creepy, Vax,” Keyleth shot back.

“Wasn’t talking to you!”

“Still creepy,” Percy said, but by then, Keyleth was guiding him down the slightly blurry curve of the staircase, and whether he was ready for it or not, she led him into the dance.

—

He’d forgotten, almost, what it was like: movement like this with no lethal intentions, a duet instead of a duel. But he hadn’t been lying. He did know how to dance.

Keyleth seemed delighted by the entire thing. She at first let him guide her, learning the steps as they followed the cues of Whitestone’s re-formed royal string quintet. Percy wistfully noted the differences—the instruments not quite so fine, two of the members new and not as skilled—but the song they played was irresistible, and his partner irrepressible. He swept into it with verve. Before long she was adding her own flourishes, too, scattering leaves behind her as she twirled. Percy had been trying to keep something of a formal air, and for that matter, an eye to the crowd of dancers around them, but it was hard to watch anything but Keyleth, and when one of those wayward leaves caught in his hair, he couldn’t help but laugh.

It was then, of course, that he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Pardon me,” someone interrupted, bringing him to a stop. “May I?”

Percy turned, briefly disconcerted. It took him a moment to recognize the newcomer, but it was Vax, pretending, in the way of these things, not to recognize him either. Percy followed along and bowed his head in a nod of concession. “Another time, fair dryad,” he said, gently loosing Keyleth’s hand.

She kissed him on the cheek, soft and sweet despite her roughened skin. Then she turned to step into the circle of Vax’s arms. Percy withdrew, watching the way they curved together as Vax began guiding her, less expertly but with more emotion, across the floor. Keyleth must have begun to blush at his touch. The leaves that crowned her were starting to shade into red and gold.

Smiling faintly, Percy turned aside. With no direction to follow or partner at hand, however, he found himself at a loss.

 _Where_ did _you run off to?_ he thought, while the music subtly changed. _We have a ceremony. I have an important gift for you. And I—_

He saw a swirl of what looked like a fluttering gray skirt, but when he turned, again it was gone. It tracked his vision toward the drinks table, however, which he viewed with wry humor. He was beginning to suspect Vax had deposited him there on purpose.

“Very well,” he said under his breath, and delicately sidestepped two hopeful dancers to find a merrily tipsy Pike.

“Percy!” she hollered as he approached, before remembering herself. “Whoops, sorry. Mysterious masked gentleman whose name I _do not know,_ welcome to the land of libations! I am your host, Lady”—she paused to straighten her unicorn horn, which took some work—“Celestia, and I’m here to lift your spirits. _With_ spirits. How may I be of service?”

Percy took in the picture of Pike, dressed to the nines and with glitter scattered across her nose—and with what looked like a lipstick smudge on one cheek already—and he smothered another smile. He bent close and said, “Actually, Lady Celestia…I’ve come for information.”

“Ah-hah. You’ve come seeking the secrets of Whitestone.”

“I suspect I know more of those than you.”

“The location of hidden treasure?”

“Tempting, but not tonight.”

Pike leaned closer too, her grin knowing. “But I know both of those are true. Because you’re looking for _her._ ”

Caught out, Percy laughed softly. But an odd feeling crept over him, maybe because Pike’s regard was so suddenly focused. She could be intimidating, no matter her stature, and it was nearly impossible to lie to her when she had you caught in her gaze like this.

Perhaps it was why his reply was so honest, but it didn’t account for the strange resonance to it, even in his own ears: “Yes. I seek the huntress.”

Everything went quieter. Even Pike sobered, at least by a fraction. She studied Percy’s expression, her little head tilted, before she smiled at just as much of an angle.

“I can help with that,” she told him. “But first! A drink.”

Percy felt a small glass pressed into his hands. The music kicked up again, oddly encouraging, although there was a wild descant dancing through it that had nothing to do with the sheet music. Percy was listening to that more than anything else as he studied the ice wine in his hands, and at last it prompted him to lift it for a sip. He was expecting sweetness. He wasn’t expecting the feeling of having taken a sudden breath of cold, crisp air, nor the distinct scent of snow all around him, as if a window had blown open somewhere, rattling his senses.

Somehow the entire glass was empty by the time he opened his eyes again. Pike was right there, eyes bright.

“Take the next dancer’s hand,” Pike said. “She’ll lead you there.”

Percy wasn’t sure how to respond. By the time he’d blinked the world back into a semblance of focus, Pike looked more like herself again, and she was cheerfully waving him on with both hands. He gave her another smile, albeit a puzzled one, and set the glass down with a clink before he turned.

Right into the path of Zahra Hydris.

There was really no disguising a tiefling, masquerade or no, except with the aid of magic. She hadn’t used it so much to mask herself, however, as to accent her already striking figure. Her gown was rich and heavy, jewels dangled from her horns, and her eyes glinted with such a pale, eerie silver that they neatly matched the moonstone in her circlet. Unsurprisingly, the crowd had parted to give her a wide berth.

“Scion of Whitestone,” she intoned, giving only the slightest of curtsies. Mischief laced her words. “Well met.”

Percy swallowed, recalibrating his idea of _intimidating._ Then he said a bit peevishly, “You know, I’m beginning to suspect you’re all having me on.”

Zahra laughed uproariously. Before he could say anything else, she tugged him back onto the dance floor.

And behind him, unnoticed, a gray figure detached itself from the shadows and crept close enough to Pike that the little gnome grinned fiercely and whispered, “Go get ‘im.”

\--

“So have you ever danced with a tiefling before?”

The question could have been innocent. From Zahra’s lips, it clearly wasn’t. Percy, who was adjusting to the feeling of very much _not_ leading the dance, knew perfectly well what she was getting at, and decided honesty would be the best policy under the circumstances. “Just the once. After a fashion.”

Zahra smirked. “As I thought. My cousin sends her regards, by the way, both to you and your baroness. I believe a gift and a letter are both on their way.”

“Thank you. Although I wouldn’t say she’s _my_ baroness.”

“Psh.” Zahra executed a neat turn, her dress flaring, and jewels tinkling against each other mid-air, bell-like. “I saw the way you looked at her from the beginning.”

Percy cocked an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware you were paying such attention. You were flirting with her yourself, as I recall.”

“Well, that’s only good sense.” She sounded amused, and not the least bit apologetic. “But I can see why she chose you. Devoted. Clever. Fantastic arse.”

Percy almost missed a step. His thoughts certainly came to a crashing halt. “Oh, dear gods, the pajamas,” he said as he remembered, and Zahra laughed again.

“Not to worry,” she said, with a wink like a lunar eclipse. “You clean up nicely, too. Even if it blocks the view.”

Percy decided to let that one pass.

They’d nearly circled the room now, dancing past the musicians and cycling gradually toward the center. Percy cast another look to the crowd around them as they did. Everything was beginning to blur, admittedly, and not just from his lack of spectacles. It was almost _too much_ spectacle. Only a few things stood out as genuine. Zahra, undeniably. Tary’s laugh as he struck up a conversation with—yes, that was most definitely a man in an owlbear mask. Vax and Keyleth, who seemed to be moving through the seasons together. Her dress somehow looked more silvery now than green, and frost had threaded its way across the leaves and antlers.

He breathed in, tasting snow again, then paused as he glimpsed what looked like someone winding their way through the crowd. All he could make out was the impression of a dark, intricate braid and an unusual silhouette. Zahra led him onward before he could see the person’s face.

“Regardless of such prurient details,” Zahra was saying, uncaring of how Percy’s attention was divided, “I’m glad to be here for her tonight. Vex’ahlia deserves to feted. She even, I daresay, deserves to be loved.”

That last was subtly pointed. He focused back in. Percy had no doubt that if he stepped wrong tonight, metaphorically or otherwise, there would be no shortage of people ready to hold him accountable. He kept his poise, though. He had no intention of ever hurting her, or allowing any harm that he could in any way prevent.

Zahra, reading his reaction, nodded in approval. “And for whatever it was worth, I’m glad to have helped in the hunt tonight,” she said.

Percy at last gave a wry laugh. “The hunt hasn’t been _that_ successful. I still haven’t found her.”

“Oh,” Zahra said lightly, “I didn’t say the hunt was _yours._ ”

Before he could speak again, she set him into an abrupt spin, straight into the center of the room.

Someone else’s slim hands caught him there and held him fast. Percy just…stared.

The full-face mask looking back at him wasn’t human. It wasn’t beast, either, neither plant nor animal. Somehow, it was all of those things at once. What might have been fur looked like silvery moss, stamped with swirling patterns; what should have been eyes were clear jewels. Antlers even more pronounced than Keyleth’s rose up from it, but these were made of branches, weathered and dark. Tied to one was a slim white ribbon, and from that, glinting in the light, hung a tiny symbol of the sun.

Some analytical part of Percy’s mind thought, _Keyleth said she helped build the mask, and so did Tary, and that would explain…but…_

But it still didn’t encompass the feeling of being stared down by some wild spirit of the forest, who stood still and silent now before him.

Waiting.

He almost whispered her name. Instead, he gingerly laced the fingers of one hand with hers, then waited in turn to see what she might do. In reply, her other hand shifted, bracing his against the soft gray suede at her waist. It curved into place there from long, intimate habit. No matter what face she might have been wearing, he knew exactly now who it was he held.

The hint of a smile touched his lips. He couldn’t see whether or not she returned it, but behind the mask’s inset lenses, he saw the flicker of a familiar wink.

Percy stepped fully into position. And as the music swirled into a strange but familiar waltz, the last son of Whitestone and the Grand Mistress of the Grey Hunt began to dance.

—

Far across the room and unheard by anyone except his immediate neighbors, Vax breathed a sigh of relief and said under his breath, “ _There_ we go.”

Three hours. Three hours they’d spent readying for this, let alone all the time that had gone into the masquerade and the festival over the weeks prior. Vax had arrived late in the game for all that, but he knew the staff had been long and arduously occupied. In comparison, getting his sister ready to bowl over Percy was a matter of sheer simplicity.

Still, between the dress, her hair—which had been his main contribution—the outlandish mask, the makeup _under_ the mask, and everything else, it had been a complicated process. Vax had discovered very quickly that asking things like “what’s the point of makeup if she’s only going to cover it up?” was a surefire way to become the focus of three sets of death glares, not to mention being shooed out of the room.

But now he could see Vex in full, and the results were remarkable. For a moment, that figure in gray looked like something entirely other than his sister. He felt an odd little shiver, but when Keyleth leaned closer, the worst of it passed.

“Finally,” Keyleth sighed. She’d clasped her hands before her. “Oh, she looks perfect.”

 _Perfect._ He had to take a moment to absorb that, watching Vex in Percy’s arms. _And it’s Vex,_ a quieter voice reminded him, _as the fucking avatar of Whitestone’s woods._

That _really_ took a moment.

Thinking back on everything she’d accomplished here, though, and everything she’d become, he glanced back at Keyleth and said softly, “She does.”

Keyleth hummed. “And look at that…Pike was so right about the dress. See how it’s cut to make it easy to move? Close-fitting bodice, but the arms still have range of motion…she could shoot in that.”

“I have no doubt that she can.”

“Oh, I watched her try it during the fittings.” Keyleth went pensive. “I think Pike got the arrow out of the door.”

“Which door?”

“It might be better if you don’t ask.”

“Huh,” was all Vax could say to that.

On his other side, Grog folded his arms and frowned. “I still don’t see why all of this was so complicated,” he said. “If it was just about getting those two together, why couldn’t she have marched straight out there when she was ready and grabbed his hand to begin with?”

“ _Atmosphere,_ Grog,” Vax said. “It’s about setting the atmosphere.”

He stopped there, though, watching the way the other dancers had begun to discreetly pull back. It afforded Vex and Percy enough room for a dance of their own. He didn’t think any of Vox Machina had made that suggestion, although Zahra might have dropped a few hints. When Zahra felt inclined to make a point, people tended to take it.

It might, on the other hand, have been natural instinct. There was something oddly…inevitable about all this. Percy out there, looking damnably handsome, stood tall and bright and shining, a beacon of progress. Vex was something wilder, more primal, but she also possessed such grace. The two of them together…

He wasn’t going to keep saying _perfect,_ but it did feel _meant._

Something caught in his throat, but he turned to better face his friends and said as lightly as he could, “Got the rest of it ready, Big Man?”

Grog nodded, looking satisfied, and patted the bag at his side. “Yep. Got the present and everything right here, soon as Percy gives the signal.”

“Good.” Vax nodded. “Good.”

“And I can go liberate Pike from the libations,” Keyleth said, enjoying the alliteration, until she paused and reconsidered. “Except I think she’s enjoying herself over there.”

Vax smiled fondly. “Ah, Pickle can take care of herself.”

“I may still…y’know…go keep her company.”

“Keep a fizzy cocktail company, you mean.”

“It’s a party,” she blithely agreed. “Come on, come with me.”

“I will. Just give me a minute.”

Keyleth, who’d already clasped his hand as if to tug him along, gentled her touch. When she saw the look on his face, she frowned, too, curious and concerned. “What is it?”

He didn’t answer right away. “Oh, nothing’s wrong, it’s just…”

He trailed off when the music rose. Percy, who had no shortage of grace of his own, gathered Vex up close and lifted her into a spin, her feet lifting entirely free of the ground. Vax held his breath. The whole room seemed to. Then he set her down gently, so gently, and Vax couldn’t see her smiling but he _knew_ she was doing it. Vex, who so loved to fly.

He held to Keyleth’s hand a little tighter.

“Never mind,” he said softly. “I’m all right. Let’s go see Pike.”

He waved Grog forward, who happily joined in, and they went together to go find the rest of their friends.

Vax kept an eye to the dance, though, the entire way.

—

Somehow, even in the midst of the ballroom, Vex could smell the woods.

She’d spent weeks out there in one way or other, tracking threats or searching for quarry, or on quiet days, simply learning the land. Percy had had to call her back now and again, worried she was becoming too concerned about whether she could truly fulfill her duties there.

But she’d also grown to love the place, strange as it could be. She knew all the secret hiding places, the homes of all the tallest trees. She’d found the best places to hunt and forage; Trinket had helped track down the tastiest of the finds, happy to be roving the forest again with her. It helped her feel like she belonged there. That she was fully earning her title. And tonight she was being honored with it in front of everyone, in the heart of Percy’s ancestral home.

But no matter how much stone stood protectively around her, she could still smell the woods.

 _This mask,_ she thought again, knowing it had to have something to do with it. _Keyleth was on to something with this design, but it’s…._

She didn’t really have a word for it. The aura of it clung to her, empowering and disorienting all at once. It made her dizzily wonder if druidic magic felt like this all the time. It hadn’t even been designed to _be_ magic, but it was hard not to believe something was there. Not when she’d felt so oddly compelled to make this a chase, a game within a larger game. And especially not when Percy—regal in his own guise, elegant and austere—stared at her with such open awe when he was caught. Part of her sang with it, victorious. Part of her felt that there was still something more that needed to happen, something she couldn't quite define.

When they took each other’s hands, though, something began settling into place. She wasn’t only one thing or another, was still herself behind the disguise. And here, with him…

The sensual and entirely human detail of his skin against hers reminded her of how else she wanted to claim him, and it made her smirk behind her mask.

This was where so much came together.

 _You used to be told you’d never amount to anything,_ she thought, while she stepped into a complicated bit of footwork. _That the best you’d get from a formal ball was watching it from the shadows. But now look at you. This is_ for _you._

She made a giddy turn, coming face to face again with Percy.

She knew she was flushed and a little bit breathless. Then again, so was he. The blush stood out so deliciously against his calculated gray that Vex brushed teasingly close, heightening the mood. Then she caught her breath as he surprised her in turn: a lift, a midair spin, the winter wind in her ears.

She didn’t know that the leaves crunching beneath her feet when she landed were from Keyleth’s costume. It seemed only natural for them to be there.

Neither of them spoke, but Vex made note of everything else: Percy’s little hum of approval at a neatly executed step, the subtle gasp when she pressed closer again than propriety really allowed. Through the distortion of her mask’s lenses, he was the only thing she saw clearly, and soon enough Vex didn’t care what anyone at the blurry edges thought. She might as well have been in the woods in truth: just her and Percy and the sheltering trees, crowned by the winter sky.

Captivated, she danced on until she felt Percy’s pulse trip under her fingertips, because he’d folded her close to his chest against the cold and his heart was hammering, hammering…

She hung suspended in that moment until achingly familiar words brought her back.

“Darling,” Percy said, his voice warm but beginning to tremble, “take the mask off.”

It took a second. Two. Finally her hands lifted, working at the ties, and the mask came free. The world resolved with such suddenness that it almost hurt her eyes, but Percy stood fast at the center of it all, while towering trees became stone columns once again, the frozen earth returned to polished floor, and the sounds around her shifted to fading music and the guests’ polite applause for the end of the dance.

There in the center of the ballroom, Percy looked into her eyes and slowly began to smile.

And Vex let her mask slip to the floor before she reached up and undid his too, so that it was easier to take his face between both hands and kiss him soundly, like there was still nothing else in the world.

—

From there on out, everything at the palace was largely a formality.

Cassandra called everyone to attention after the last dance, and the crowd gathered close again for the ceremony. Percy had walked Vex through it days before, so she had some idea of what to expect. “There will be a small speech,” he’d told her, waving one hand in a careless get-through-it gesture, as if the details mattered little. “Cassandra first, as is her right, and then Keeper Yennen with a few words about history and the Grey Hunt’s significance to Whitestone, all that—he’s liable to go on a bit, but please bear with him—and then I’ll present you with the official raiment, as it were. And there may be something else brief after that to tie things up, but that’s basically it.”

“Well, that’s good,” Vex had said lightly. “Quick presentation and then back to the party. Less pressure than Keyleth’s, anyway.”

HIs voice had softened. “Yes. But just as significant in its way.”

Vex had laughed then, because this didn’t feel like it fairly compared to becoming leader of an entire people, but tonight, as it was happening, it all felt…a little different.

Possibly it was that she still felt lightheaded, making it hard to focus on exactly what everyone was saying. Maybe it was being aware now of being the focus of so many stares. Eerily, those included the empty-eyed gazes of her and Percy’s discarded masks, placed now on stands near where they stood. At least having Trinket by her side again, out of the locket, felt reassuring, even as it likely kept everyone else a few paces further away than they might have been otherwise. Cassandra was the only one who looked unfazed. It reminded Vex just how poised the young woman was under pressure, and that straightened Vex up, too.

So did wondering exactly where Percy had gone off to, because he’d stepped away at a moment she didn’t expect, speaking first to Tary and then to someone in the guard before she lost track of where he was. _Turnabout, I suppose,_ she thought, although the closer Yennen got to the end of his rambling speech—which was more than a bit boring, to be honest—the more tense she became.

But then she saw Percy, with Grog at his side, walking up through the crowd. Yennen cleared his throat, ending his speech perhaps a couple sentences early. He introduced Percy by name and title, and then reluctantly intoned, “Grand Poobah.”

“De Boink,” Grog added pointedly. “Of All-This-and-That.” Then he grinned. “Hey, Vex. Something for you.”

Percy looked to Vex, eyes bright behind his glasses. At his subsequent gesture, Grog opened his bag and pulled something out with a grand flourish.

Vex’s eyes widened as she watched him unfurl a beautiful, fur-trimmed cloak, gray of course, and more finely made than anything she’d ever owned. She barely resisted exclaiming over it. Trinket, less restrained, bent forward for a sniff.

At that, Keeper Yennen fell dumbstruck. Percy just stifled a laugh. In the gesture, Vex noticed he had something else, much smaller, already in his hand.

“Baroness Vex’ahlia, Grand Mistress of the Grey Hunt, we honor you tonight,” he said in a clear, strong voice. “And I present to you this cloak and clasp”—his tone warmed as he approached her, unusually deferential—“to signify your service to your city and your people.”

The choice of words made Vex’s breath catch. She didn’t take her eyes from him even as Grog cast the cloak around her shoulders. She only looked down when Percy pinned the cloak into place with a sizable silver clasp. Upon the disc was a border of branches and leaves that put her instantly in mind of her mask, twined around the stars of the de Rolo crest, and a beautiful, impressionistic silhouette of a woman beside a bear, with a single arrow clasped in one hand.

She lifted her head, feeling her eyes begin to brim. Percy leaned in, gently kissing away the one tear that slipped free, then stepped back to say, “People of Whitestone, I give you your Huntress.”

For the second time that night, but this time uproariously, the crowd burst into applause. Vex could pick out the faces of all of Vox Machina—her brother, Kiki, and Tary right up front, and Pike riding on Grog’s shoulders, yelling louder than anyone—and then she scanned the crowd at large, seeing so many friends, council members, and townspeople that she’d grown to know.

Vex waved back to them all, trying to take it all in. Finally she simply had to catch her breath. Fortunately, a diversion was close at hand.

“Hey, buddy,” she whispered, clutching one hand in Trinket’s fur and crouching down beside him. “Look at _that_. You’re right there on my brooch, see? That’s you!”

Trinket, probably to Vax’s satisfaction, replied by licking her enthusiastically and removing half her makeup in the process. Vex giggled, taking the handkerchief that an amused Cassandra passed her to wipe her face, and pressed her face against Trinket’s neck.

As promised, they weren’t quite done after that. Percy had also made tokens for everyone in Vox Machina: medallions with scales from all the dragons of the Conclave. The others joined her on the podium for the presentation, and this time Vex watched her brother’s reaction most, especially the way he rubbed one thumb slowly over the red-tinted scale. She hugged him after he pinned it on, uncaring of who saw.

Her own medallion she hesitated over, though, not wanting to make it compete with her clasp. At last an idea struck her. “Vax,” she whispered, nudging him. “Help me with this?”

He looked at where she was pointing, then smiled. “Still not done with having me fix your hair?”

“Never,” she said firmly, and he took the hint.

When she stepped down from the podium with the others, the clasp had been fixed elegantly into her braid, with its white scale positioned prominently at the top. It didn’t take long before she felt Percy’s eyes on her. Vex took the excuse to do another twirl, making the cloak spin fetchingly around her and showing off both medallions at once.

Percy watched her with a small, proud smile, holding out one hand.

“Go on,” Vax murmured when she gave her friends one last glance, not wanting to unceremoniously disappear without a goodbye. “Have the rest of your party.”

She arched an eyebrow. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re implying.”

“Sure you don’t.” He nudged her forward. “Don’t worry about us. I’ll keep Trinket busy.”

“Be a good uncle, then. And keep him _out_ of the punch bowl this time,” Vex chided, to which Vax made an exaggerated _who, me?_ gesture. Vex made a face at him but laughed, and she was still smiling as she made her way out of the congratulatory circle and over to Percy for an embrace.

He returned it warmly, but somehow, in contrast, she caught another whiff of snow.

Vex looked up. She’d been expecting him to lead her to the stairs, but instead, they were facing the doors that led to the outer castle grounds. The guards were already placed as if to give them safe passage, and Vex cast a sidelong look at Percy.

“I hope you’ll forgive me if I say there’s one last part to the ceremony tonight,” he said.

“Well. Is there now.”

“It’s not exactly official. And it is up to you. But…”

She paused on the verge of a joke much like Vax’s, because Percy’s expression still suggested something more was at play. She thought about it. “Does this have anything to do with whatever it was you went off for before the ceremony?”

“I…ah. You noticed that.”

“Of course I did. Did you expect anything else? Particularly from the Mistress of the Hunt?”

“Fair point.” Percy smiled. “You’re too sharp to surprise.”

“Someone has to keep you on your toes.”

“You always do.” He took a breath and slowly released it. “Tonight, during the dance…the whole thing put me in mind of something that I believe is important. Something to finish what we began. But I don’t think I’d get very far in explaining it here. Will you let me show you?”

“Of course.”

“Then we’ll need to go this way. It’s just outside.”

Vex thought only a moment before she put her hand in his. He clasped it tight. After a whispered word to the guard to mark their departure, Percy led Vex from the room and through the corridor to the outermost doors. There, she pulled her new cloak tighter around her. Percy, too, moved close.

“So where exactly are we going?” she asked.

Percy pushed open the doors. “The woods,” he told her, and Vex looked skyward as the winter stars lit up to greet them.

—

It wasn’t a long journey into the Parchwood, not for what Percy had in mind, but his heart beat too rapidly the whole way.

Even after the months he’d spent reacclimatizing to Whitestone and creating new memories of the place, the woods could still put him on edge. Strange little flashes of the past came to him still, and probably always would. But tonight it was quiet and strangely peaceful, and Vex was beside him: the Grand Mistress of the Grey Hunt herself, who knew these woods better than anyone. That part was a comfort. Still, it also filled him with nervous anticipation for an entirely different reason.

He hoped he was making the right choice.

“This way,” he said gently, hoping the swirl of his thoughts didn’t show, and led her to the horses he’d told the guard to ready. She looked surprised, but managed her sidesaddle mount with aplomb. Percy mounted, too, gestured in the right direction, and as promised, he and Vex headed for the border of the wood.

“How far in are we going?” she asked after their path wended past the tree line and gradually beyond. After a second she shrewdly added, “There’s a clearing not far to the west, isn’t there?”

There was. Percy led her a little further before gesturing to slow down, and then he gently urged his horse to stop. Even in the dim light he could see the glint of two stones on either side of the road: experimental handiwork of Tary’s, enchanted to set basic protections and trip an alarm if anything threatening tried to wander in. Corvin, the guard he’d spoken to—the oldest still serving Whitestone, which meant he remembered a few of the tales Percy knew—had taken them and set them out in just the right places.

“They’ll be safe here,” he said of the horses, dismounting and pointing out the wards.“Let’s walk the rest of the way.”

“You’re being very mysterious, you know,” said Vex, but she didn’t argue. She slid lightly to the ground and looped her horse’s reins around a nearby branch. Then she squinted ahead. Percy could guess why. If his helper had done everything he’d asked, there was indeed something to see.

“Is that…” she began.

Percy finished tying up his own horse, then turned to her and offered an arm. Wearing a faintly puzzled smile, she accepted.

Together, they walked into a glade gently illuminated by firelight.

Percy hadn’t explored these woods as thoroughly as Vex had, but this place he knew well. Once, long before his ancestors settled here and made Whitestone what it was, there had been a small shrine here, part of traditions even older than the worship of the Dawnfather. Not much was left except the overgrown stones of an old, raised platform, but Percy had long been intrigued by it, wondering what had been honored here.

When he pulled back an overzealous bramble, he saw worn-down markings on its surface eerily like the spiraling patterns on Vex’s mask.

 _To lead the Grey Hunt is to hold an ancient office, one honored by the gods themselves,_ Keeper Yennen had said. Percy thought of it again, tracing over a curve with one fingertip. _But it has its roots deep in the land and in the hearts of the people who have always protected it…_

Fire flickered in the braziers newly positioned around the clearing. Percy, realizing he was trembling, turned to Vex. She looked just as waylaid by her own thoughts. She was surveying the entire clearing.

“I was thinking of this place,” she said. “While we were dancing. I saw something just like…it’s not coincidence, is it?”

 _Nothing feels coincidental tonight,_ he thought, but all he did was shake his head. Vex didn’t look surprised. He watched her walk around the ring. When she stopped, she was beside him at the platform, where she, too, considered the designs before she lifted her eyes.

“What made you think to come here?” she asked.

“It was…probably a fanciful idea,” he admitted. “And if I’d had more sense I would have explained it to you first. But I brought you here because I’ve been thinking of old stories. Things I read, things people once told me. Things I remembered when you caught me tonight, and I saw you in that mask.”

Vex caught her breath like she was about to say something, but she held her tongue.

“It’s been a long time since we had a Grand Master or Mistress of the Grey Hunt. It’s been even longer since…well. None have ever been quite like you.”

“I do hope that’s a compliment.”

Her tone had been wryly teasing, but Percy reached across and took her hands in his. “Of course. Of course it is, and it matters.” He held on a little tighter. “You matter to me.”

Vex, wordless, gazed back at him. Percy swallowed, trying to find the right way into what he needed to say.

“It’s been said,” he told her at last, “that there still exists a connection between the lords of Whitestone and those who lead the hunt. Sometimes it’s called us into that service ourselves. Sometimes it means a close alliance.” He paused, thinking of Vex in her masquerade guise, so powerful and wild. She looked every bit as captivating still. “And there was a story told—probably based on an even older one with pagan roots, so it’s more of a conflation of ideas than literal truth, but…”

“Darling, just tell me.”

“That when the blood of kings and the protector of the land joined, it could bring life to the forest even in the deepest of snows.”

Something sparked in her eyes. “And when you say ‘joined’…”

“It’s a metaphor, yes. A bit of a euphemism. But…it’s also a vow.”

Vex’s lips parted. Percy took a deep breath, stepping sideways from the point again even if he didn’t mean to.

“Maybe it’s nothing I should take to heart,” he murmured. “Legends and poetic imagery, nothing more. But oh, gods, Vex, if there was ever a moment…”

Her voice went very soft. “What sort of vow do you mean?”

He wished it weren’t so difficult to say. Quoting an old tale hardly felt sufficient; finding any other explanation seemed fraught. But she deserved to have it spoken plainly. The night had been so full of strangeness—with both of them seemingly harried by it in their own way—that the best he felt he could offer was open honesty and a clear promise. So he breathed in deeply, feeling lightheaded with it already, and slowly went to one knee.

It wasn’t the first time he’d knelt before her, but this…oh, this was different.

“Mistress of the Hunt,” he said, head bowed, “by my blood I pledge my service.”

He heard her breathe his name. He also heard a faint stirring of wind. It shook him strangely, but he made himself press forward.

“I vow to aid you as you aid us, to support you through whatever risks you face and any need you find. By my blood I swear it, and by the names of those who gave me mine.” His own voice was barely louder than a whisper now, but he made himself raise his eyes for the last. ”And by my heart I pledge myself, Vex’ahlia, if yours has any need of me.”

For a moment everything seemed to hold its breath.

 _Oh, you’ve done it,_ Percy thought while the silence rang, and it wasn’t a feeling of having gotten it right. _You’ve stepped too far, you’ve said too much, you should have kept it simple and left that last part well enough al—_

The anxious voice stilled when Vex reached out and touched his temple, softly, almost wonderingly. Then she began to speak.

“By my…by my hand,” she said haltingly, “I pledge my service.”

Percy felt his heart trip again at that change in words. He listened raptly.

“I vow…to protect the city that has sheltered me, and the people that accepted me. To protect the woods and the life that grows here, and defend against dangers from within and without. I swear it by the god who led me here…” She paused, looking into the trees. Nervous humor crept into her voice. “And all of you, if you’re listening.”

Percy ventured a smile, even if it was tremulous. Her gaze returned to his. “And Percy…”

Percy held back every word that threatened to crowd out. Instead he waited, letting her decide. And to his surprise she suddenly knelt, too, uncaring of her ballgown or the cold, hard ground beneath her. Her eyes were fire-bright.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Oh, dear gods, of course, yes.”

“Vex…”

“ _Yes,”_ she repeated, as if in the manner of so many other old stories he knew: say a thing three times, make it true. He finally started to believe it. And so before fate could intervene or the universe could change its mind, he took her in his arms and kissed her, holding on for all he was worth.

They didn’t let each other go for a long, long time.

—

Long after the fires had died down—when it should have been cold, but somehow wasn’t, and the forest should have felt dangerous, but she wasn’t afraid—Vex looked up through the branches above, picking out the patterns of distant stars.

She and Percy were lying together atop her cloak, which for all its mistreatment tonight still felt soft and comfortable. She wondered if some sort of enchantment was at work, but hadn’t yet asked. The clasp, though, she’d retrieved for a closer look. She was holding it in one hand. The other was gently stroking back Percy’s hair.

It was probably—she smiled to remember his words—a fanciful idea, but the stars on the brooch, studded as they were throughout the border of greenery, looked just like the ones glittering overhead.

“Percy, darling,” she said gently, and felt him stir.

He’d had his head pillowed on her breast, so becalmed there she’d wondered if he was beginning to doze, but his gaze was clear when he lifted his head to look at her. Well, it was clear insofar as his limited vision could manage in the dark, but she was close enough that she imagined he could make her out. To her, he was perfectly vivid: tousled hair, flushed skin, and wearing that softer look he only ever seemed to get around her.

Vex remembered, inevitably, the heartfelt things he’d told her tonight, and after a moment she said, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course. Anything.”

“Before I let my imagination carry me away about…all of this…can I ask—“ She cut off as she realized she had no idea how to put it, except to be blunt. She tried on a smile. “What exactly was it that we just did?”

“Besides the mind-blowing sex, you mean?”

His tone was amused, almost smug, but its low resonance also made another pleasurable rush tingle through her. She took a second to enjoy the glow before her mood shifted, growing more serious. “It’s that I felt so strongly from what you said, and what _I_ said…”

“Yes?”

She blurted it out. “Did we just engage ourselves to be betrothed?”

He didn’t reply right away. Vex propped herself up, feeling a flood of words break loose. “Because I meant what I told you,” she said. “I meant all of it. I’ll feel terribly silly if I read too much into it, but with this whole night, and how wonderful and strange it’s been, and the way you made that vow…”

Percy sat up too, clasping her hands in his. A tentative smile touched his lips. “By some lights, I think we’re already married.”

The word rang in her ears. Vex, suddenly consumed with whether or not she was breathing, gave up on talking and stared.

“It _is_ what the vow meant,” Percy told her. “It felt like the time. It felt right.”

“Oh,” she whispered.

“Is that…what you wanted?”

She felt dizzy, which was maybe why she leaned forward, but she took the opportunity to softly kiss him before she drew back and said, “I _told_ you I meant it. Yes. It’s what I want.”

“Oh, good,” he breathed.

“It’s only that I wanted to be sure, because don’t these things usually require—I don’t know, blessings, or witnesses, or someone waving smelly censers and throwing petals, whatever it is they do?”

“I can’t imagine better witnesses than these.” He indicated the trees with a lift of his chin. “There will eventually be people to inform, documents, all that—some of these things are inevitable—but this is the part that matters. And I’d have found no more honest words to give if every god in the pantheon had blessed them for me.”

Vex looked to their joined hands and the medallion still cradled within. She knew how little he wanted to do with the gods, but the idea that he’d choose a way instead that mattered to _her_ made her heart ache.

“It did feel right,” she confessed. After a second she gave him a mischievous grin and added, “ _Especially_ with the mind-blowing sex after.”

Percy smirked. “It is rather the ultimate pagan ritual.”

“Short of messy sacrifices, at least.”

“Well,” he said regretfully, “we might have sacrificed our clothing.”

Vex looked around to the piles of discarded finery. They’d begun by trying to be careful, but things had become more haphazardly scattered as they went. She wasn’t entirely certain where some of it had gone. The idea made her suddenly laugh. “I wonder what everyone at the castle will think if we ride back after all this completely naked?”

“Honestly, I doubt they’d even be surprised.”

Vex shifted closer and leaned her head on his shoulder. The brooch she considered one last time before setting it down beside her. “Still,” she murmured. “I think…I think I want to keep this between us for a while.”

“The vow?”

She nodded. “I love them all, and I know how they helped us, but this feels…”

Vex paused. She’d been called greedy in her time, usually by those who'd missed the mark; this wasn’t about feeling possessive so much as _protective_. This was something new and fragile, something she wanted to keep sheltered until it had time to grow. She looked up at Percy. 

He finished the sentence for her. “Like this part is ours.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Besides, I’m not sure I’m prepared to make an announcement of marriage”—the word felt strange in her mouth, heady with its potency—“right after all this. Everyone will make such a scene.”

He made a face, silently agreeing.

“And I don’t want this to be about what everyone else thinks. I want…”

It was still too much to put into one word, but Percy seemed to understand. He reached up, his fingers gently untangling the remnants of her braid, and Vex hummed, arching toward him as he slowly began stroking through her hair.

“It’s our secret,” he murmured. “Just us and the woods and the sky.”

Vex kissed him again, too many feelings surging through her to contain. The intimacy of it was overwhelming. Only reluctantly did she let the kiss end, staying within his arms for a while before she got to her feet. “Then, husband, if this is our secret,” she said, giddy again with the words, “we’d best go soon. Before someone outside the woods starts guessing that we’re up to something.”

Smiling, he took her hand and rose. Together, they started piecing back together their clothing, and thereby their facade. It took some time. Vex still couldn’t help but feel that _something_ would show—wrinkles or stray twigs, the obvious loose tumble of her hair, the languid way Percy moved. To be fair, everyone did know by now how they were with each other. The promise made, though…that was still theirs. That, they could protect.

She tucked her clasp and the dragonscale token safely into her outfit’s little purse, then, bracing herself for a disaster, she lifted the cloak from the ground.

She heard Percy catch his breath when she did. It was immediately obvious why. Not only was the fabric perfectly clean, but beneath it, where there should only have been bare soil, a layer of soft, silvery moss had begun to grow. Vex stared, seeing a fern frond unfurl nearby even as she watched, and a leaf uncurl from the brambles that covered the ancient altar. The scent of cold, crisp air was still all around her, but so, too, was the hint of something green.

Percy, startled, turned to face her.

“What was that you were saying,” she asked softly, “about pagan rituals…?”

He laughed, amazed, but could find nothing more to say. Neither could Vex. She just put an arm around him and held on, taking it all in.

And when they finally chose to depart, a fluttering of leaves drifted across their path, as if the wood had been listening to them all along: not quite petals and incense, but still a little blessing of the Parchwood’s own.

—

When they got home, they discovered that Tary had placed both of their masks upon the mantel, side by side.

The vines and leaves wound around them were as green as an early spring, and they never withered away.


End file.
